The Distance Between Us(25)

“It’s refreshing. You make me feel normal.”

“Huh. I better work on that because you’re far from normal.”

He smiles and pushes my shoulder playfully. My heart slams into my ribs.

“Caymen.”

I take another handful of dirt and smash it against his neck then try to make a quick escape. He grabs me from behind, and I see his hand, full of dirt, coming toward my face when the warning beeps of the tractor start up.

“Saved by the gravediggers,” he says.





Chapter 17



Xander hops up and helps me to my feet. We throw our shovels out of the hole, then he gives me a boost out and hefts himself out after me.

As we walk back toward the funeral home, our shovels propped on Xander’s shoulder, he says, “So this is where your best friend lives?”

I nod.

He laughs a little. “You live above a porcelain-doll store; your best friend lives in a cemetery. You’ve pretty much grown up surrounded by creepy things. Is there anything you’re afraid of?”

You.

He meets my eyes, almost as if he had read my mind or maybe my thought is written all over my face.

I clear my throat. “Dogs.”

“You’ve been bitten by a dog before?”

“No. But the thought of them biting me is enough.”

“Interesting.”

“Oh, please. Don’t analyze the statement. Dogs have sharp teeth. They bite people.”

He laughs.

“What about you? What’s your biggest fear?”

He twirls a shovel on his shoulder once, thinking. Either he doesn’t want to tell me or he doesn’t have a strong fear of anything because it takes him a while to say, “Losing. Failure.”

“Failing at what?”

“At anything. Sometimes it’s hard for me to start something because I’d rather not try at all than fail at it.”

“But nothing good ever happened without risk.”

“I know this. And yet . . .”

We reach the back doors of the funeral home and he leans our shovels against the wall. I shake out my hair and he does the same. Then he turns me around and brushes off my back.

“And yet what?” I ask when I’m not sure if he’s going to continue.

“And yet I can’t get past it.” His hands linger on my back and I close my eyes.

“Maybe you should let yourself fail at something. Fail hard. Then you won’t be scared anymore.”

“So should I go get the dogs now or later . . . ?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He’s right. I can’t tell him to face his fear if I’m not willing to face mine. And I don’t mean my fear of dogs.

“So are you just scared of the big dogs or do the little ones bother you, too?”

“You have dogs, don’t you? The kind you carry in a purse?”

“No,” he scoffs. “Of course I don’t.”

“Their size doesn’t matter. In fact sometimes the little one are worse. They’ll take off a finger.”

“This coming from a girl who’s never been bitten before.”

“The thought, Xander. It’s the thought.”

He chuckles then pats my shoulders as if to say my back is now free of dirt. “Ready to go?”

“Yes. No, wait. Let me fix your hand real fast. Mr. Lockwood has supplies inside.” I knock on the door then open it a crack. “Mr. Lockwood?” I step inside. “Follow me. If I remember right there’s a first aid kit this way.”

We walk down a long hall and I open the last door on the right. I stop cold when Mr. Lockwood looks up from a dead body lying flat on the table in front of him. “Sorry,” I say. The man has a large cut down his chest with big staples holding it together. He had obviously had an autopsy performed. His face is sunken as well, not a fresh body but one a coroner probably had for several days.

“It’s okay, come in.”

The room is cold and a shiver goes through me. “I just needed a first aid kit. Some gauze and antiseptic maybe.”

He points to the small bathroom attached to the room. “Right there.” Mr. Lockwood applies some sort of foundation to the man’s face.

It’s hard to ignore the smell lingering in the room. It’s not a horrible smell, but the smell of something being preserved. “Is he going to be open-casket?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” A large picture of the man when he was alive is taped to the wall next to Mr. Lockwood and he keeps referencing it.

“He needs some work,” I say.

“We’re getting there.” He holds out a brush. “Do you want to apply some blush?”

“Xander, what do you say? Another facet to this career?” I turn around, but he is frozen in the doorway staring with a horrified expression at the guy on the table. His face looks almost as pale as the man who has his attention. “Maybe not.”

I step in front of him and it takes a moment for him to meet my eyes.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Didn’t expect that. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, come here.” I lead him to the bathroom and close the door, hoping that putting the body out of sight will help. I hold Xander’s hand under some slow running water, gently rubbing it with soap. His eyes keep drifting to the shut door. “Stay,” I say, searching the cupboards for the first aid kit. I find it and set it on the counter, opening it. Xander turns off the water and pats his hand dry.